


no rest for the saints

by the_chaotic_lesbian



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Blow Jobs, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Riding, Trans Linhardt von Hevring, hubert is awkward and linhardt is tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25141963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_chaotic_lesbian/pseuds/the_chaotic_lesbian
Summary: It takes two months worth of convincing himself for Linhardt to be here, standing in front of one of the offices that Hubert’s claimed as his, wearing nothing more than a loose-fitting silk gown with his hair free and spilling down his shoulders.Two months. Two months of self-doubt, of laying his flirting on extra thick to test his boundaries, only for Hubert to… well, Linhardt wouldn’t call it flirting back. He’s not entirely sure that Hubert knows what he’s doing. For someone so amazingly smart, he is so stupidly dense.So here he is. Linhardt wouldn’t do this if he didn’t think that it wouldn’t be reciprocated, of course. He may not be the best at reading people, but even he’s noticed the way Hubert’s eyes follow him when he enters a room, the desire radiating off of him palpable to everyone except maybe for himself. Yes, Linhardt is just about positive that Hubert wants him just as much as he wants Hubert.But he just won’t pick up on it.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	no rest for the saints

**Author's Note:**

> thank u ky for giving me linbert brainworms i hope this satisfies you

It takes two months worth of convincing himself for Linhardt to be here, standing in front of one of the offices that Hubert’s claimed as his, wearing nothing more than a loose-fitting silk gown with his hair free and spilling down his shoulders.

Two months. Two months of self-doubt, of laying his flirting on extra thick to test his boundaries, only for Hubert to… well, Linhardt wouldn’t call it flirting back. He’s not entirely sure that Hubert knows what he’s doing. For someone so amazingly smart, he is so stupidly dense. 

So here he is. Linhardt wouldn’t do this if he didn’t think that it wouldn’t be reciprocated, of course. He may not be the best at reading people, but even he’s noticed the way Hubert’s eyes follow him when he enters a room, the desire radiating off of him palpable to everyone except maybe for himself. Yes, Linhardt is just about positive that Hubert wants him just as much as he wants Hubert. 

But he just won’t  _ pick up on it.  _

It’s tiring. Linhardt’s far too exhausted to play this game of cat and mouse any longer. 

So here he is. Hesitantly, he taps his knuckles against the door, presses it open. Just as he thought, Hubert is hunched over the desk, back to the door. The sounds of pen scratching against paper is the only thing that fills up the room, and Linhardt sighs.    
  


“Do you have any idea what time it is?” He asks, closing the door behind him. “I don’t like having to chase you down, Hubert. It’s very tiring.” 

“Then don’t.” Hubert doesn’t even look up. How rude. Linhardt did not dress up - well, if it counts as dressing up - and walk up an entire flight of stairs just for Hubert to completely ignore him. No, Linhardt did not spend two months working up the nerve just to give up now. 

“Oh come on,” he says, curling around the top of Hubert’s chair to lean his head against Hubert’s. From this angle, he can see the papers that Hubert’s working on. Some boring war stuff, he’s sure, though he doesn’t really have the patience to actually read over them. 

_ Maybe Hubert will ask me for my opinion later,  _ he muses,  _ he’s been doing that a lot more recently.  _

“How long have you been at this?” Linhardt curls his arms around Hubert’s shoulders, relishes in the way that Hubert stiffens under him. It’s adorable, how much he tries to hide his feelings, how much something as little as touch affects him. It’s definitely something to study, though he adds that to his list for later. 

Hubert doesn’t answer him, just keeps writing. 

_ Sigh.  _

“Hubert,” he drawls, curls his arms just a little bit tighter. Hubert’s only wearing a white fitted shirt and black pants, and Linhardt brushes his hands over the outline of his collarbone, presses his nose into dark hair with an inhale. 

“Hubert,” he says again, evenly, “it is far too late for this. You need to rest. Do you need me to carry you again?” 

Not that he really wants to carry Hubert again. Goddess, that was absolutely tiring last time. The things he does for the people he cares about… 

“No,” Hubert huffs, and finally his writing pauses. He sounds annoyed, but he’s not doing anything to push Linhardt off, which is a step in the right direction. It at least confirms Linhardt’s belief that he wants this as much as Linhardt does. 

Still, he smiles, though it’s unseen. 

“Come on,” he draws out the consonant sound, “I didn’t come all the way up here to take no as an answer.” 

“Then what did you come here for?” Hubert pushes his paper away with a dramatic sigh, and he leans forward to rest his head on one of his hands, dislodging Linhardt completely. “I highly doubt it was just to bother me.” 

Linhardt hums, and straightens, pulling his arms back a little. “Well,” he says, trying not to act so bothered that Hubert still,  _ still  _ hasn’t turned around, “maybe I just wanted to help you relax.” 

And finally, Hubert turns to look at him. Oh, the satisfaction of watching the blood drain from his face, eyes widening slightly, is almost enough to make this whole endeavor worth it. Almost. 

“What are you wearing?” He says, swallowing thickly. The sight brings a small smile to Linhardt’s face. He wonders if Hubert noticed the eyeliner he stole from Dorothea to wear tonight, had applied with a practiced hand. 

Linhardt gives his hips a little shake, relishes in the way that the gown twirls against his hips. “Oh this?” He says innocently, his hair swaying as he moves, “Dorothea lent it to me. It’s very comfortable.” Well, he had stolen it from her, but same difference really. 

“Linhardt,” Hubert pauses, takes a deep breath. He’s still sitting in his chair, and it’s a rather small office, but Lin walks around so that he doesn’t have to crane his neck anyways. Let it not be said that he isn’t considerate. “What are you doing?” 

And now Linhardt sighs. “I think you work yourself too hard,” he says, letting his tone be light and airy and hoping to the goddess that his intentions come off right, “and that you need a break. What do you think?” 

Hubert wrinkles his nose, casts a glance at the papers he had forgotten. “I still have so much to do,” he says, as if deep in thought. 

“It can wait,” Linhardt assures him, and he stretches his arms above his head in a yawn. It, of course, allows the gown to shift on his shoulders, revealing his bare skin. If this were Caspar, or even Ferdinand, he’d have them on their knees to suck his theoretical dick right now with just the motion. But no, this is Hubert, and he just blinks, unamused. 

“But Lady Edelgard-”

“Please,” Linhardt groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “please do not mention Edelgard when I’m flirting with you.” 

“Wait.” Hubert flushes, and his eyes widen just a little bit more. “You are flirting with me?” 

And oh, that’s depressing. Sure, Linhardt had expected the answer, considering the mixed reactions his flirting across the months had gotten him, but it’s still quite the blow to hear how poorly said attempts had gone. 

He presses the heel of his hand into his head, sighs. “I have been for the past several months, yes, thank you for noticing.” 

There’s a pause, and Linhardt pulls his hand away from his face to see Hubert gaping like a dead fish. He winces internally at the comparison: he really doesn’t want to be thinking about dead fish whenever he just wants into Hubert’s pants. 

He sighs again. “Honestly Hubert. I know I’m not really the best at reading people, but I really did think this was something you wanted.” He slides a hand through his hair, giving Hubert his best sleepy demure gaze he can pull off. “If it isn’t, though, I can leave.” 

“Saints, Linhardt,” Hubert stands, a full eleven centimeters taller than Linhardt, and the sight alone makes him shiver. “I… suppose you are correct. Not even I am immune to your beauty.” 

And that’s a sentence Linhardt doesn’t hear every day. Considering at this point he’s really just incredibly horny, it’s overly sweet but not what he’s really wanting. 

“So you do want this,” he brings his voice down to a husky whisper, and he steps forward. The size of the room really works in his favor as he presses his hand to Hubert’s shoulder and chest, traces the outline of his collarbone through the fitted shirt. 

A hand presses into his hair, and Linhardt lifts his chin up to meet a grassy green gaze. 

“Did you really come here just to… do this?” Hubert gestures vaguely at him, at the gown he’s wearing, and Linhardt can’t help but smile.  _ Oh Hubert. You’re really not as intimidating as you claim to be.  _

“Well,” Linhardt drawls, trails his hand upwards to brush against a very chiseled jaw and then further up to brush that dark hair again, “it was the plan, yes.” 

Hubert is pliant, amazingly so. He hardly puts up a fight as Linhardt presses his hand downwards and guides his head into a kiss. 

Linhardt’s dreamt up a scenario such as this one many times, but he never pictured Hubert to be so… well, inexperienced, though it’s not really a bad thing. It’s honestly kind of hot, thinking about how Linhardt’s going to be his first true experience. 

For a second, Hubert doesn’t do anything besides let Linhardt kiss him, completely frozen. Then, a hand curls around his waist and settles against his back, and Hubert leans into the kiss with a touch more passion. 

As far as kisses go, it’s definitely not one of his better times - Linhardt thinks that even Caspar might be a better kisser than Hubert von Vestra - but that doesn’t matter much when Linhardt is finally, finally getting his way. He combs his fingers through Hubert’s hair, presses against him in a way that surely will allow him to feel his need, and flicks his tongue against his lips, curiously. 

Hubert groans, and he pulls away, though his hand remains steadfast on Linhardt’s back. 

“Linhardt,” he starts, and his cheeks are flushed pink: Linhardt thinks it’s a wonderful sight, “I don’t-” 

“So this is your first time?” Linhardt raises an eyebrow, tugs at Hubert’s hair, “I’m impressed, Hubert.”

“Do you mean to tell me that this is not yours?” Hubert asks, and then grimaces. “Nevermind. Please, do not answer that question.” 

Linhardt laughs, and he pulls Hubert into another searing kiss. 

“Hubert,” he whispers, after a couple seconds and he’s pulled away, “I want you to fuck me.” 

Hubert jerks, but doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away like Linhardt is vaguely scared that he will. “So tactless,” he murmurs, “you always do get straight to the point, don’t you?” 

Linhardt hums, and he presses a kiss to Hubert’s jaw, allowing his free hand to join the other one around Hubert’s neck. “I just know what I want.” He nips at the skin there, listens to the way Hubert sucks in a breath. “And what do you want, Hubert?” 

There’s a pause, and then a hand tangles itself in his hair. “You,” Hubert answers, with a sentimentality that Linhardt had only expected from Ferdinand honestly, “I want you.” 

“That’s very touching.” Linhardt presses one more kiss to his jaw before dropping his hands, stepping back so that he can reach the buttons at his shirt. “Overly touching. I’m very flattered.” 

“Is that really all you have to say?” Hubert groans, though he doesn’t make any sort of move to stop Linhardt from unbuttoning his shirt.

“Well, you’ve never cared for me running my mouth, have you?” Linhardt finishes, watches the way the shirt opens up on a pale torso. Hubert could rival him in skin tone, which is saying something considering Linhardt is as white as the sheets he sleeps on. Something about never seeing the sun, he supposes. 

Hubert doesn’t answer him, simply watches as Linhardt tugs the sleeves of his shirt over his arms. Goddess, he is skinny. He can’t really complain about it, considering that they have nearly the same body type, but he does note it away, files it for later. 

“You really were planning this, weren’t you?” Hubert finally says, as Linhardt tosses his shirt off to the side. He trails his mouth along his chest for a moment, presses kisses little bites against skin that never sees the light of day, before pulling at his pants, fingers fumbling with the belt. “Saints, you’re eager.” 

“Of course I’m eager,” Linhardt huffs, and he tugs the belt free, slinging it off to the side with his shirt. Once his belt is off, it’s easy to slide his pants and underwear down - Linhardt thinks that his belt was the only thing keeping Hubert’s pants on, with how painfully boney he is - and he swallows as Hubert’s cock is revealed, already painfully hard. 

“Oh, you’re eager too, aren’t you?” He swipes his finger across the head teasingly, watches Hubert groan at the touch. “My, my, Hubert. You’ve been holding back on me.” 

“Shut  _ up, _ ” Hubert sucks in another breath as Linhardt curls his hand around him, giving a few experimental strokes. They’re still standing, rather awkwardly, but Linhardt drops to his knees, eyeing that cock with a hunger he hasn’t experienced in awhile. 

“Okay,” he says, smirks, and then takes the head into his mouth. 

Hubert’s choked gasp is worth the back and forth banter he’s suffering. Linhardt’s forgotten how much he likes the feel of his mouth being filled, and he bats his eyes up at Hubert, keeping one hand on the base of his cock while he sucks hard on the head. 

“ _ Saints,  _ Linhardt!” Hubert fists at his hair, which feels really nice, nobody else will so much as  _ touch  _ his hair aside from petting it. Long, gloved fingers twist into his hair, and Linhardt smiles around his cock, bobs his head and swallows. 

He would almost be content to stay here, a hand in his hair almost putting enough pressure on his head to guide him further down, jaw stretching to fit more of Hubert’s cock into his mouth, but his own pressing need grows the more he works, and he can hardly ignore it. 

So, reluctantly, he pulls off, smacks his lips together with a satisfied sigh. “One day, Hubert, I’m going to do that for a lot longer.” 

Hubert groans again, though this time more out of exasperation. “You can’t just say things like… like that.” 

“And why not?” Linhardt stands, pushes hair out of his face. It’s going to be  _ such  _ a pain to brush it out later, but that’s what Ferdinand is for. The noble is quite excellent at managing hair, to Linhardt’s own surprise. 

Hubert gives a sharp inhale, and then he pulls Linhardt into another kiss. Unlike the last one, it’s fiery, passionate. Hands caress his shoulders, digging into the neckline of his nightgown, pulling at his hair. It takes his breath away, because Linhardt had fully expected to be doing all the work tonight. 

“Do shut up,” Hubert murmurs against his lips, and it’s enough to make Linhardt shiver. One day, he’s going to beg Hubert to bend him over a table and fuck him, but tonight he has far too much energy and no other way to use it. He doesn’t often have the energy to exert himself like this, so he’s going to take advantage of it. 

“So commanding,” he says, with a sigh, “perhaps one day I’ll let you put that bossiness to good use.” He pulls away completely, and then hums. They’re still in the office, which probably wasn’t Linhardt’s best idea, but he’ll make do. 

He eyes the chair, and then gestures for Hubert to sit down. “Tonight, though, I’d like to ride you, if that’s okay.” 

Hubert releases another sound - something halfway between a groan and a whine - at the words, and he sinks down into the chair bonelessly. 

“Good boy,” Linhardt smiles. 

“Don’t ever say that again,” Hubert growls. 

Linhardt shrugs. “Duly noted. Caspar likes it, so I thought I would try it out.” 

“And don’t talk about anyone else!” Hubert clenches the armrests of the chair, looks away.

“Aww, is Hubie jealous?” Linhardt bends down to grab the hem of the nightgown, yanking it up over his head. He’s sure to be just a little careful, since it is not his and he’d rather not risk facing Dorothea’s wrath. Still, he drags it off with precision, watches as Hubert glances back at him and flushes deliciously pink. 

“It’s okay,” he says casually, as he tosses the nightgown to the side. He almost feels subconscious, bare chest exposed, wet and glistening between his legs, but Hubert’s gazing at him with a hunger in his eyes, and his confidence returns rather quickly, “I know, I’m just that attractive.” 

“You are,” Hubert agrees, quietly. 

Linhardt flushes. “You weren’t supposed to agree with me.” 

“Well, it’s the truth.” Hubert meets his gaze, his dark hair covering his face but not hiding the desire in it. “You really are… very attractive. Sinfully so.” He pauses, swallows. “You are absolutely divine when you’re not running your mouth.” 

“Coming from you, that’s high praise,” Linhardt says casually, like he’s not about to burst at the seams with embarrassment. Goddess, praise does something to him and he hates it with every fibre of his being. 

“I’ve always been quick to praise you,” Hubert points out, “even if I do think that mouth of yours has much better uses.” 

“Oh yeah?” There’s not much room on that chair, which means Linhardt’s going to have to sit on his lap to ride him. He prepped himself earlier, but he still reaches down to curl a couple of fingers inside of him, releasing a needy moan. “Like what I was doing earlier? Maybe if you say pretty please, I’ll do that again.” 

“Didn’t you say you wanted to do it again anyways?” Hubert’s watching him finger himself open hungrily, and it’s a nice look for him. “I must admit, it was quite the sight. Seeing you gag yourself on my cock.” 

Linhardt swallows thickly, pulls his fingers out. “My, my Hubert. Where did you pick up such language? Never took you for someone who talks dirty.” He presses his fingertips into his mouth, tastes himself. He doesn’t particularly care for the taste, but watching Hubert suck in a breath at the sight is very much worth it. 

“What can I say? You’re quite the influence.” 

Linhardt rolls his eyes. “I think everybody knows I’m not a good influence.” He wiggles his hips, watches the way Hubert swallows. “Now please. I’d very much like to ride you now.” 

“ _ Saints. _ ” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse so much,” Linhardt smirks, stalking forward. The chair is… an awkward obstacle, but it’s not the worst place he’s had sex, and by the goddess he will have his fun tonight. He uses one hand to grasp Hubert’s cock, the other to hoist himself into Hubert’s lap, and then finally,  _ finally _ , he sinks down with a toss of his head and a loud moan.    
  


“Be  _ quiet,  _ Linhardt!” But Hubert’s groaning too, his fists white around the armrests of the chair. Linhardt straddles his waist, tests the position with a wiggle of his hips. Goddess, he feels so full, and it’s a good thing he’s not, say, Caspar, because he’s not sure the chair could handle the weight. “If Lady Edelgard comes in and finds us in here…” 

“Hubert, what did I say about bringing up Edelgard?” Linhardt tosses his hair out of his face, curls his legs around the legs of the chair, gives an experimental bounce. It’s far more difficult than he had realized, but he’s nothing if not bitterly determined. 

“Terribly sorry,” Hubert actually apologizes, which is… rare. Linhardt is thoroughly impressed. “Linhardt, Saints, you feel incredible.” 

“Just sit back and relax, Hubert,” Linhardt presses his hands against Hubert’s shoulders, leans in to press a kiss to his lips. “After all, you are supposed to be resting. Let me do all the work.” To prove his point, he starts lifting his hips, slamming them back down with a fervor. 

“Now that’s something I never thought I would ever hear you say.” Hubert grunts, and then tosses his head back with a clenched moan, collapsing backwards into the chair. It’s almost better this way, the angle shifting just right, and Linhardt gasps, shaking. 

Well, at least he knows not to fuck in chairs anymore. 

“I suppose this proves that I can put in effort,” Linhardt tries to lift himself up a little bit higher, sighs whenever he slams his hips down with just the right amount of pressure. Oh sure, he normally likes it a little rough, but considering he’s the one in charge… well, it’s nice. 

Hubert groans, and his hips are bucking to meet every half-hearted thrust, chasing his own pleasure like he needs it. And maybe he does, Linhardt can’t remember if he answered the “is this your first time” question. 

“I think I can- nngh, make an allowance just this once.” 

“Good.” Linhardt leans forward again to mouth at Hubert’s neck, using the hands on his shoulders as leverage as he pushes himself to his limit. Up and down, up and down, shaking with effort the entire time. He nips at the skin, kissing over each bite. And then there’s a hand in his hair again, shoving him closer, and Linhardt smiles. 

“Bossy bossy,” he teases, breathes against Hubert’s neck. “Next time, you’re going to fuck me with all of that bossiness. Don't be afraid to be rough with me, I can handle anything.” 

“Next time, hmm?” 

“Well, isn’t this nice?” And oh, Linhardt hates the way a flash of fear runs through him, that all of this is for naught, and Hubert will discard him as quickly as he would a ruined piece of paper. He hates that his first instinct is still to believe that nobody truly wants him, because he knows by now that people do want him, do care about him. 

But Hubert just laughs, breathlessly, the hand in his hair twisting and pulling. “It is,” he groans, bucking his hips and curling in a way that hits a spot inside of him. Linhardt whines into Hubert’s neck, drives his hips into that spot again and again and again. 

“Hubert,” he breathes, sucking another mark into his neck, fingernails digging into Hubert’s shoulders, “I’m close,  _ fuck- _ ” 

Hubert laughs again, and Linhardt can hear the smirk in it. 

“Come on, Linhardt,” he says, and his voice is far more teasing than it has the right to be, “beautiful Linhardt. You’ve worked so hard for me tonight. So good for me.” 

“That’s un _ fair- _ !” Linhardt comes with a choked cry, hips stilling as his vision blanks and he sees white. Vaguely, he’s aware of Hubert’s hips pumping into him before that too stills, and then there’s warmth inside of him, but it’s all foggy and far-away. 

Hands wrap around his waist just enough to help him slide off of Hubert’s dick, and then he collapses into Hubert’s embrace, arms wrapping around his back and stroking his hair. 

“Linhardt,” he hears, and Linhardt blinks, coming back to his senses, “Linhardt, darling.” 

“Darling?” He mumbles, curling his head into a bare chest. 

Hubert’s voice is quiet. “Well, I think you earned it. I must say, Linhardt, you’ve truly outdone yourself. That was… incredible.” 

“Thank you, I tried my best.” Linhardt yawns, tucks his legs in. “Now if you excuse me, I’d very much like to sleep now.” 

Hubert huffs. “And what am I supposed to do, hmm? Sit here, naked, in my office with you sleeping in my lap?” He stands, suddenly, dislodging Linhardt completely. He falls to the floor with a muffled grunt and a whine. 

“What are you  _ doing? _ ” 

“Getting dressed.” Hubert disappears out of his line of vision, and then reappears moments later in his fitted white shirt and pants once again. “I’m not getting you dressed though. This will have to do.” 

Linhardt blinks, and then Hubert’s carrying him bridal style, with the nightgown draped over him like a blanket. “What…?” 

“We’re not sleeping in some office,” Hubert says, by means of explanation, “I… suppose I’ll sleep with you in my own bed. You did convince me to rest, after all.” 

“I already did sleep with you,” Linhardt points out, but he presses his head into Hubert’s chest anyways. 

Hubert snorts. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

“Mhm.” Linhardt yawns, closes his eyes. “Yeah yeah. I know.” 

He hears a fond chuckle. “Sleep well, Linhardt. And… thank you.” 

“No need to thank me,” he curls his head tighter, allowing himself to drift off. “I was… grateful. I do care about you, you know.” 

He might be dreaming, but he feels the soft breath of a kiss on his forehead, the tightening of arms around him. “I know.” 


End file.
